


To Look Upon Tempests

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Thunderstorms, Top Crowley (Good Omens), romantic sex, romantic smut, they’re just getting super cosy folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: It's only a few months since the Apocalypse, and since a certain angel and demon finally confessed their feelings for one another.During one terribly cold, stormy December night, Aziraphale and Crowley are keeping each other very warm.[includes lovely NSFW art]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 491
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	To Look Upon Tempests

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PWP one-shot companion to my series, [Love, and Other Ineffable Things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606)
> 
> Ficlet inspired by this lovely drawing by [@freedomattack_nsfw](https://www.instagram.com/freedomattack_nsfw/) on IG!  
> 

* * *

It was a bitterly cold December evening. A steady rain fell over the grey and misted buildings, just on the frozen edge of becoming sleet, and the roads were slick and uninviting. Howling winds whipped down the icy London streets, biting at faces, yanking at scarves and coats and sending the rare unlucky pedestrian scurrying back whence they came. 

On the top floor of a corner bookshop, up an ornate spiral staircase and at the end of the landing, was a tiny bedroom that that had once been a storage area. In that room an angel and a demon were tucked firmly away from the winter chill. 

The harsh wind rattled the window by the bed, driving icy rain against the glass outside, but inside all was warmth and softness and comfortably dim firelight. Cosy flames leapt in the small grate against the wall; there was no visible source of fuel for the fire, but it burned merrily nonetheless and filled the room with flickering heat. Two teacups sat empty in their saucers on the bedside table, and a patterned china plate with the bare crumbs of what had recently been a slice of rum cake. The small pendulum clock on the wall showed that it was not yet so very late. 

It had all begun, as many evenings did lately, with Crowley cuddling Aziraphale in their bed while the angel read a book, lying spooned up behind him under the tartan coverlet and holding him close against his body. He had been toying with the blond curls with one finger, occasionally brushing a soft kiss behind his ear, marveling as always at the fact that he could touch him now. Happily floating in that about-to-fall-asleep daze, listening to the pattering rain and minding his own business, pressing up firmly against his angel...and at some point Aziraphale had pressed back. 

Things had only escalated from there, and it was definitely the angel’s fault. 

They were still in roughly the same position, only on hands and knees now. The book lay forgotten somewhere among the blankets. Crowley’s forehead was pressed to the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, hands braced on the mattress on either side of him for leverage as he rocked slowly against him. His hair had grown long again in recent months, longer than it had been in decades, and now russet waves spilled freely over his hunched shoulders, down over his face, mingling with pale blond curls and pooling on his back. The angel lay on his stomach with soft hands clutching at the pillow, flushed cheek pressed against it. The heat of their entwined bodies glowed between them like a burning coal, warming whatever spaces the fire had missed, and the room was filled with the music of heavy breathing, the slide of bare skin against skin and the occasional slow creak of the bed. They moved together with the quiet, breathless desire of two people who still cannot believe they have found each other.

Both of them had their wings out, spanning the full width of the room and demonstrating exactly why there wasn’t much furniture in here. Crowley rubbed his cheek along the silken-soft ivory feathers, stretched taut beneath him, feeling them tremble at his touch. He kissed his way across the sensitive skin and slowly licked that oh-so-tender place at the base of each wing, where soft white down melted smoothly back into equally soft flesh. Both skin and feathers between them were damp from sweat and from his tongue, the plumage matted and translucent. His own dark wings were spread above him, blacker than the night outside, occasionally adjusting with the movement of his shoulders and a swish of the close, warm air. 

There was a rumble of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminated the entire room for a half-instant, but Crowley didn't spare it a glance. London seemed determined to make a proper storm of it tonight, and that was fine. He didn’t mind storms. Nothing could touch them in this room, here in their own tiny world where all was private and safe. He had business of his own to attend to, business thousands of years in the making, and that business was making his angel _moan_. Neither Heaven nor Hell nor the forces of Nature Itself were going to distract him from it. He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s back, then ran his tongue up his spine between his wings, licking the salt from his skin. In the firelight the glossy feathers shone as if dipped in liquid gold. He shifted to press one of those gilded wings down onto the bed, carefully, carefully now, pinning it in place and letting his fingers play through it. 

Aziraphale shivered and wiggled closer to him. “Slower, love,” he murmured. “Slower.” More lightning flickered, bright silver instead of gold. 

He obliged, until he was moving as slow and gentle as waves at low tide. “Like that?” 

“Mmm. Yes.” Aziraphale sighed and pressed back even harder. “Yes.” 

Crowley pushed in as slowly as he possibly could, allowing himself to just enjoy every instant of it, enjoy the feeling of Aziraphale tight around him. He pushed in and held down, and down... smiling as he groaned and arched his back. “Am I still going too fast for you, my angel?” he murmured. “Hm?” He touched his mouth to the side of the soft, pale throat and bit, equally slowly. He held both points of pressure, smoothing his hand down the wing against the bed, and this time the angel’s groan was nearly guttural. It blended with a fresh roll of thunder overhead, and he felt both reverberate in his teeth. 

“Mine,” he breathed through his mouthful. He bit the back of his neck, right above the nub of the spine, and nipped his slow way up to behind his ear, drawing fresh gasps with each bite. “I dreamed about doing this to you all last night,” he whispered, and pushed his hips forward again. “I wanted you so badly that I finished in my sleep. I’ve thought about this all day; I wanted to touch you and feel you against me. I wanted to feel inside you.” He ran his hand over the perfect softness of his stomach and thighs, sliding up his chest and around him to pull them closer together. He pushed forward again, into him, a little harder this time, and it was his turn to groan helplessly as he felt the angel clench deep inside. “Mmm. You’re so much better than I imagined.” He began to thrust a bit faster despite himself, in time with his quickening breath, moving steadily now. 

Aziraphale squirmed under him and grasped the pillow harder, and buried his face into it with a ragged noise that sounded completely involuntary. 

“That’s it.” Seeing his proper, buttoned-up angel so undone like this had become one of his favourite things, not that he was going to tell him that. After six thousand years of careful restraint, this uninhibited side of him was a delight. Aziraphale had always been wonderfully uninhibited and enthusiastic when it came to things he enjoyed, but seeing that enjoyment applied to _him_ was something new and astonishing. “Is that good? Hmm?” He kept his lips against the back of his neck; he didn’t seem to be able keep his mouth off him tonight.

“Yeh-yes.” A breathless pant. “Oh, yes. You’re so good at that.” Aziraphale reached back to touch his face, and Crowley kissed his palm, feeling the press of the familiar gold ring against his lips. He caught that hand in one of his own and pushed the first two fingers deep into his mouth, gently sucking at them before releasing it. 

“Come here,” he whispered. With a shift of his shoulders he folded his wings down around them, pressing against and mingling with the white ones, light and dark feathers twining together until they were a single entity. The wings shut out the strobing flickers of silver and left only their little cocoon of dark once again. He made love to him there in that intimate place, wrapped in each other, giving and receiving pleasure with hushed intensity.

A sharper crack split the air, and the rain became a steady roar on the roof above and all around them. Lightning was coming nearly every other breath now; the storm was getting worse, but they paid it no attention. Their focus was narrowed to the column of quiet heat between them and nothing more. It was as if they lay in the middle of a vast, heaving sea, an island of blazing calm within the tempest.

Crowley leaned in to softly brush his lips against his ear. “Angel…say my name.” 

Aziraphale turned his head the last couple inches towards him and kissed him. “Anthony,” he whispered, and reached one arm up, combing through his long hair, wrapping a handful of it around his fist. He kissed him again, slowly, holding him in place. “My sweet Anthony. My Crowley.” 

It sent a bright, warm thrill through him, vivid as the lighting flickering outside, for reasons he couldn’t even fully articulate to himself. He closed his eyes and for a long moment just stayed there unmoving, inside him, kissing him as intently as he could and trying to freeze the moment in his mind. He had a thousand such moments now, crystallized and stored away like talismans against darker memories, and they were his most precious possessions. Moments with his angel, the only person in the universe who did not see him as something damaged. Moments that he had always told himself he could _not_ have, must not touch. This impossible, ridiculous, beautiful, frustrating, _perfect_ being who had chosen him at long, long, long last. 

He realized he was moving again, with purpose this time. His hips had a mind of their own, and he wasn’t going slowly anymore. “Ah,” he panted. “Please don’t ask me to stop, I can’t stop, you feel so good.” 

“No, darling, don’t stop- faster, faster.”

“Oh yes, oh fuck...” He gave up trying to hold back and used a single beat of his dark wings to mount further up onto him, surging forward and wrapping his arms around his neck and chest. He let loose and thrust as fast as he could while Aziraphale moaned and tightened his grip on his hair, while the wind howled and lighting struck a lamppost outside the building with a _crack_. The angel's moaning took on a new and frantic pitch in the way Crowley had come to recognise and love, and it only inflamed him further.

“There you go,” he panted between efforts. “Yeah, there, I’ve got you… _fuck_.” Then they were suddenly both coming together like a thunderclap, that rare and perfect moment of sync. He hugged him tight and came with Aziraphale’s name on his lips and hand in his hair, while the angel arched up towards him and breathed _"_ _Anthony"_ over and over again, speaking his true, chosen name without a hint of mocking, and there was an indescribable power in it. Outside, the frozen storm raged on, but inside all was fire and softness and clenching wings in defiance of that violence, as they reaffirmed to each other that they were no longer alone. 

As they weathered the storm together, and created one of their own.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Want more Ineffable Husbands PWP? This is my companion PWP account, so check out my other works here for more of the same.
> 
> Also: I now have an Instagram where I will be compiling all the art I commission for my fics! Also will have new fic announcements, etc. Will include some NSFW art, so if you are 18+ and want to follow, come find me on IG @IneffablePenguin


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